Philip Paul Bliss was born in a hand-hewn log cabin July 9, 1838, to Issac and Lydia Bliss, in Clearfield County, Pennsylvania.
A loving family, he and his sister were taught by their father to pray daily, and his mother taught him to read from the Bible. Their family, as many others, were poverty stricken.
Philip would later write of his dad, “He was always a poor man, but early in the morning, and after the toil of the day, in the evening, sitting on the porch of his humble home, his voice would be heard in song.”
Philip developed a love of song from his dad, and would readily catch up a tune and begin to whistle (Eph. 5:19).
Times were very tough though. Out of love for his family, at the age of 11, young Philip set out to make his own living; finding work on farms, and in timber camps, or sawmills. A spry young lad, while working in these camps, he did what he could to further his education, and at 17 years of age, he finished his requirements to teach.
The following year, 1856, he became the schoolmaster of a one room school in Hartsville, New York. Possessing a God given talent for sacred music, Philip was encouraged to become a music teacher. At the age of 22, he became an itinerant music teacher, traveling from community to community on “Old Fanny,” the name of the mare he rode.
In the years to come, Philip Bliss would be used by God to write many popular hymns. Then, at the early age of 38, he would be involved in a tragic train crash – killing him and his wife.
I have studied much of Philip Bliss’ work, and there is so much more that I could say. His life, indeed, blessed many pilgrims on this Earth for years to come.
When I was a boy, living in the rural community of Solo, Missouri, several of the hymns Mr. Bliss wrote would come to life on the old piano at our little country church. Mrs. Grace Blankenship was at the keys; I would often try to sneak a seat in the choir next to Mr. Bill McCloud. He had a very low bass to his voice, and I reckon, I figured some of that might rub off on me if I sat close enough (silly how children think).
At home, my mother would sit sewing at her treadle sewing machine, singing hymns as she sewed. The old hymn “Wonderful Words Of Life” by Philip Bliss was one of her favorites. We were poor back then (but it was a better life), and mother made many of our shirts and night clothes pedaling on that old treadle. I remember well, standing nearby watching her little foot work that treadle to the tune of an old hymn. She would look over at me and smile, and a feeling would rush over me that all was right with the world.
Dad had a ’49 Chevy truck with no roof; sometimes mother would fix rice crispy treats, and we would head to the timber with dad for a day of cutting firewood to haul and sell. With a heavy load of oak, the ’49 would raise a front wheel off the ground climbing out of a holler in granny low.
But America was changing fast, and the “good times” finally made it to our family. Sadly, much changed after that, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.
I am the oldest of six, and it saddens me deeply that most of the others did not get to see the life I witnessed at an early age. At my mother’s funeral, I shared from the pulpit what I am sharing now. My brother nearest my age began to weep. Later that day, he would willingly admit that he had forgotten mother sitting at her old treadle, singing hymns.
I do not share this as being condemning; far from it. I share in hopes that my feeble (yet honest) words can make a difference in someone’s life.
You see, life without Christ is always more of the world (1 John 2:15,16). More money, more land, more this, more that, go here, go there, wear this, wear that. If only people could learn the peace, a pure, simple, quiet life in Christ Jesus affords.
No sir, I wouldn’t take all this world has to offer – not any of it – for the memory of a little boy, a young mother, an old treadle, and…“Wonderful Words of Life.”
Sing them o-ver a-gain to me, Won-der-ful words of life
Let me more of their beau-ty see, Won-der-ful words of life
Words of life and beau-ty, Teach me faith and du-ty
Beau-ti-ful words, won-der-ful words, Won-der-ful words of life
Christ the bless-ed One gives to all, Won-der-ful words of life
Sin-ner, list to the lov-ing call, Won-der-ful words of life
All so free-ly given, Woo-ing us to heav-en
Beau-ti-ful words, won-der-ful words, Won-der-ful words of life
Sweet-ly ech-o the gos-pel call, Won-der-ful words of life
Of-fer par-don and peace to all, Won-der-ful words of life
Jesus on-ly Savior, Sanc-ti-fy forever
Beau-ti-ful words, won-der-ful words, Won-der-ful words of life.
– Philip P. Bliss
Michael Everett Jones is a Texas County native, old fashioned historian and purveyor of traditional Christian values. Email ozarksgrandpajones@gmail.com.